


Pain Unbearable

by Niargem



Series: Maedhros in Madness [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I Made Myself Cry, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Poor Maedhros, Post-Nirnaeth Arnoediad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 19:04:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17391950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niargem/pseuds/Niargem
Summary: Maedhros was not a stranger to pain.Terrible scarring wounds, blows that shake and break bones, scorching heat that burns skin, the precise yet deep-cutting edge of a sharp knife---it came to a point it had become nothing to him. Maedhros thought he had felt already felt it all.But it appeared he was wrong, as he saw Fingon's slain body lying there in the mud, he realized, this time, the pain was unbearable.





	Pain Unbearable

 

Maedhros was not a stranger to pain.

Terrible scarring wounds, blows that shake and break bones, scorching heat that burns skin, the precise yet deep-cutting edge of a sharp knife---it came to a point it had become nothing to him. No matter how much his nerves scream at the intensity of a stab or burn, as it went on, battle after battle, loss after loss, victory after victory, it ceased to deal him any actual pain. He first thought he had become numb, while their healer fixed up his wounds and bid him to stay still. But it was not so, it seems, for there still was the sudden prick, the jolt of nerves that flared up, but it was tolerable. It had become tolerable after...

He bid his thoughts halt, and trace back.

Physical pain was just that: physical. It passes, his body heals, even if there still remain the scars, he heals and the next wound will just be another venture to overcome.

But the pain of the mind is something else entirely.

Maedhros thought he was no stranger to pain. Every sorrow, every tear and grief caused by the splitting of bones and muscle, every scream echoing within his thoughts. Yes, the mind screams despite the body endures. There was a time he had been pushed to his lowest point; it was a state he never wanted to be reduced to ever again.

Maedhros thought he had felt already felt it all. 

But it appeared he was wrong.

His cousin lies there in the mud. His sunken form almost buried beneath dirt, a terrible storm has passed since the end of the fifth battle. The field was a chore to traverse, his boot sinking into every patch of soil in his care not to accidentally step on his cousin's people, on the rest of the free peoples of Middle Earth who stood to fight by their side, now laying upon the dirt hewn and skewered even as they lay dead.

His sight was fixed upon the field. Never daring to let his eyes fall on what was next to him, on what was in front of him.

He knew he was there. He had seen the gold in his hair from afar still glimmering under the light of the stars of Varda, like a gem found in the midst of a dark cave, twinkling in the darkness as if it was still telling him, calling to him, his voice, in his head, that hope still thrives despite what happened.

But he can no longer believe it.

He does not know how long he had been standing like this. His feet was starting to hurt. His eyes were starting to sting. His throat felt like it will belch at any moment.

Still, he did not dare to look at his dearest's corpse.

Maedhros thought he had felt it all.

But Fingon always had it in him to surprise him.

And with that thought, he fell to his knees.

Loud was his sudden cries, bellowing, wallowing, grief striking the already graven wasteland so terrible that even within the threshold of a tragic-laden battlefield, it split through and rose in its intense wake.

His tears were unloosened, his eyes start to hurt. His voice parched and painful, finally letting spill the emotions he had tried so hard to contain. He does not know why he tried hiding them. He clings, clings so desperately to the thought that Fingon may still live, that he may have escaped, that they may regroup and deal another attack on the wretched dark lord.

But all of his hopes lie now with Fingon. 

He had taken it all with him.

It was too great a grief---too cruel a fate. He could not endure this. No, he cannot. He would endure countless injuries and wounds, he would shoulder the weight of the world and their lies and hate, but not this. Eru, never this. And as if mocking, his mind travels towards wanted memories of Fingon's hair, the way he twirls and catches the light in his golden ribbon wrapped in dark locks, the way he moves with regality, how his words sprang new inspiration to not only Maedhros, his laughter that echoes in his ears, the way his eyes glint when he thought of new things, and his smile...

His smile that lights up the fire of joy to those who can see it. The smile that he derived his strength from was now the one causing him immense loss and pain.

Because they were now only memories.

And Maedhros would give anything just so he can experience those again, just so he can experience Findekáno again.

But he was now here, in the dirt, slain and trod to the dust even as he lay dead. Maedhros still refused to look at the state he was in even as he knelt.

It was raining now, he thought, as he felt cold droplets fall upon his cheeks, upon his hair, and upon the bloodied dirt. A storm is coming. There is always a storm coming.

The difference is he no longer has him by his side to weather it now.

And as the weight of his entire grief seemed to collapse into his shoulders manifested into rain, he felt its intensity sink him upon the dirt next to his slain dear friend.

Trudging, trudging it buried him, the rain ceaseless in its pattering and the sound of it landing upon his silver armor was intense upon his ears.

And all thought left him as the thunder rumbled, the only thing that reigned still true and binded him upon the pitiless earth was the call, the oath, enveloping him into a darkness that claimed him in its claws, but not before the faint singing of Findekàno's fair voice rang in a distant part of his mind.

And for the last time in his long life, he felt a brief sliver of peace.

 

-

 

"Where did you find him?"

"He was unconscious besides Fingon's corpse."

Celegorm snorted, "You mean his banner? Can you really call it a corpse with all that was left of him?"

Maglor winced at his words, sending him a disapproving glare as they stood. The only sound in the room was the soft breathing of Maedhros who lie now asleep upon his chambers.

"It was a shame we could not even bury him." Maglor said more so to himself, gripping the fabric upon his sleeve as he now gazed intently at his eldest brother's sleeping form. His eyes seemed so hollow, so spent with tears, while the rest of his face so white he feared his feä will break free from his body.

But that will not happen. Even if Maedhros would want to follow Fingon to the Halls of Mandos, the oath binds them here.

For death now seemed too merciful a fate for the sons of Fëanor.

"Where do we go from here?" Maglor asked the unconscious Maedhros. His voice was grim.

Celegorm answered for him, "To our oath. There is no other road for us other than that."

With that, Celegorm left.

Maglor knows his words to be true; it awakened a fire within him that still laid dormant, steadily rising as if attempting to claim him. It was true.

Nevertheless, he clenched Maedhros' hand as he knelt beside him. He bowed his head as his eyes fluttered shut, murmuring a soft message towards Maedhros in the deepest depths of his thoughts.

"Once we reclaim our birthright," He started, his feä rummaging softly as it touched with his brother's in comfort, "We will leave this realm, brother, and we will meet him again."

Yes, they will leave Arda.

And return home, they will, along with all those who have passed.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always welcome!


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